


Overcoming Hate

by longbottomed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, I've never written flintwood before so they're probably badly ooc, M/M, Rated Teen because Oliver debates about if getting a hard-on makes him gay for Marcus, also because of the kissing, author's notes worthy of My Immortal, but I'm still too drunk to care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9293465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longbottomed/pseuds/longbottomed
Summary: (or: The Troubles with Pairs that hate Each Other,or: i dont know how it happened but now theyre kissing make the rest up yourselves)This started out as a discussion withflintwoodandcoon tumblr about how hard it is to write pairings that canonically hate each other and somehow ended up becoming this mess. There was some alcohol involved.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flintwoodandco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flintwoodandco/gifts).



“All right, I want a clean game,” Hooch said, gaze flicking to Flint, who gave her his most innocent smile. Which wasn't innocent at all, come to think of it. Oliver was more reminded of a shark out for blood.

“Captains, shake on it.”

Oliver took the offered hand, grinding his teeth in synchrony with his bones as Flint did his best to steal the Bludgers' jobs by breaking Oliver's fingers before the game had even begun. When Flint finally let go, Hooch had been clearing her throat pointedly for half a minute.

“If you're quite done, mount your brooms,” she said, giving them barely enough time to scramble onto their brooms before she blew her whistle and kicked off.

“You'll finish this game in the Hospital Wing, Wood,” Flint called as they rose off the ground and Oliver made for the goal hoops.

“Only if I jump off the broom myself, Flint,” Oliver retorted, throwing a challenging grin over his shoulder for good measure.

 

_A/N: so i suck at writing quidditch scenes so youll have to imagine a game of epic proportions yourself and somehow oliver really does end up in the hospital wing but so does marcus lol_

 

Oliver woke feeling like he'd been ran down by an Erumpent. His whole body felt like a giant bruise and he was sporting the headache of his life—even the hangover of The Drinking Contest That Shan't be Named of '89 had nothing on the one that was splitting his skull into smithereens right now.

His throat felt like he'd decided to gargle cotton balls, however, when he tried to say 'water' nothing but a pitiful groan made it past his lips.

“Finally finished your beauty sleep?”

Shocked to hear _that_ voice _here_ , Oliver's eyes flew open. Something he came to regret immediately when it felt like the light pierced right through his eyeballs into his brain. Squeezing his eyes shut again, he hoped to avert the worst. But as it was, Oliver's stomach lurched and he only barely managed to roll onto his side and throw up all over the floor and not himself.

“You're disgusting,” the voice sneered and Oliver slowly and carefully opened his eyes to find Flint lying in the bed next to his, looking down his nose at him.

“Can't help it when your face makes me want to puke,” he coughed, fighting down another wave of nausea. “Beats me how your house mates manage.”

He grinned cheekily, pushing himself into an upright position. Watching Flint blush with anger almost made it worth throwing up a second time.

 

_A/N: more stuff happens, oli and marc shoot daggers with their eyes at each other during meals, it comes to blows during a dada lesson, oli gets a hard-on from it and is confused_ _™_

 

It was fine, Oliver told himself. He was a young, hot-blooded male, stuff like that happened. Right.

Right?

Right! Getting a hard-on from a bit of roughhousing was perfectly normal. Even if he had been squabbling with a bloke. Even if—Merlin have mercy—that bloke had been Marcus bloody Flint. But Flint's leg had been between his and his thigh had been rubbing against Oliver's crotch. His prick had just reacted to being stimulated. That it was Marcus Flint doing the stimulating had nothing to do with it whatsoever.

“It's normal,” he told himself once again, making Pince glare at him around the corner of a bookshelf. “It's perfectly normal.”

“Shush!” Pince said.

“Sorry,” Oliver said sheepishly and quickly bent over his Charms essay. But the letters on his parchment kept blurring until he couldn't make out a single word any more. They shifted and warped before his eyes, rearranging themselves until they spelled  _M+O=♥._

Oliver blinked and then stared at the offending letters.

He couldn't even remember doodling a heart.

“I'm losing my bloody mind,” he said and was promptly kicked out of the library.

 

_A/N: oliver somehow notices that marcus is kinda fit and his grin can be pretty hot right about now or something of the like_

 

“What the hell is wrong with you, Wood?!” Flint demanded, grabbing Olivers wrist and pulling him around and forward so that he stumbled into Flint's broad chest. A chest that felt hard and nicely toned beneath the hands Oliver had instinctively brought up to cushion the impact. And now he was fondling Marcus Flint's chest. The End was officially nigh.

Stumbling back, Oliver searched for words, but all he came up with was, “nothing's wrong with me, what's wrong with you, I'm totally normal—I mean,  _fine_ .”

Yeah, he bodily cringed about that one himself.

Marcus just stared.

_Flint_ . Flint just stared. Not Marcus, they weren't on a first name basis, but his brain seemed to have forgotten that tiny, yet very important, detail.

Flint kept on staring. Oliver kept on cringing.

“What happened to you?” Mar— Flint demanded to know, furrowing his brows. They were nice brows, Oliver noticed. Thick and dark and nicely curved. He wondered if Marcus plucked them to look like that.

“Did you catch a Bludger to the face or something?”

“What? No,” Oliver said, still staring at Marcus' eyebrows, which were making their way up towards his hairline. They were indeed very nice eyebrows. “Do you pluck your eyebrows or are they like that one their own?”

Silence. Oliver's jumbled thoughts came to a screeching halt and his sanity gave him a jaunty wave as it vacated the premises. Damn.

“What?” Marcus said.

“What?” Oliver echoed.

“Did you just—“

“No!” Oliver stammered. “I didn't. But if I did, it's the whole,” he gesticulated towards his face, “Bludger to the face thing, I wouldn't say— I mean, your eyebrows are nice, really, but— I'd never, I mean— I should just shut the hell up.“

Marcus only continued staring.

“Well!” Oliver said, clapping his hands together and giggling ( _giggling!_ ) “Nice talking to you Mmm—mate!  _Flint_ ! Gotta go!”

And he fled.

 

_A/N: i dont know man writing is hard. stuff happens, they somehow stop hating each other??? make the rest up yourselves idec i just want to make them kiss_

 

Oliver's back connected hard with the wall. Hard enough to bruise later, in fact, but he didn't care because there were more important things to focus on now. Namely Marcus Flint standing right in front of him, eyes dark and fiery. He'd only ever seen Marcus look like that on the quidditch pitch and to have that gaze directed at him now—

Oliver shuddered and let his head fall back against the wall, baring his throat. If it was a show of submission or meant as an invitation, he couldn't even tell himself. Not that he cared.

Because Marcus was coming closer, steps measured and predatory, hands coming up to rest on the wall on each side of Oliver's head. Crowding him in, blocking every escape path.

“You keep staring at me,” Marcus drawled, his voice low and barely above a whisper, sounding like a purring cat and like whisky tastes. ( _A/N: does that comparison even work? idc it sounds awesome so whatevs lol_ ) “If I had to guess, I'd say you have a crush on me.”

He was leaning in, getting ever closer until Oliver could feel his breath brushing over his own lips, could almost taste the pumpkin juice Marcus had had for dinner.

“What?” he stammered, licking his lips nervously. His heart missed a few beats when he noticed Marcus' gaze following the path of his tongue. “That's ridiculous.” The protest sounded weak even to his own ears.

“We both know that's bullshit,” Marcus said, and Oliver was going cross-eyed trying to keep looking into his eyes. They were grey and dark like the sky during a storm, and Oliver right then and there decided he could forever stare at them.

“It isn't,” he insisted, but the words were no more than a shaky whisper breathed into the minuscule space between their lips.

“Shut up, Wood,” Marcus said, and finally, finally crossed the space between them.

It wasn't perfect—Oliver was so eager he lurched forward and their teeth clicked together—but there were still fireworks going off inside his stomach and he couldn't help but groan when one of Marcus' hands grabbed the back of his head, his free arm wrapping around Oliver's waist to pull him closer.

“Fuck,” Marcus breathed, pulling back just long enough to get the word out before he continued kissing Oliver.

Oliver would have liked to endorse that statement but his tongue was far too occupied with pushing past Marcus' lips and exploring his mouth.

“Should have done this months ago,” Marcus said, pulling back to softly bite Oliver's earlobe, drawing a startled gasp from him.

“Years,” Oliver groaned and pulled at the front of Marcus robes, desperately trying to loosen the clasp holding them together. “Take them off,” he whined and groaned some more as Marcus pushed a leg between his and moved his hips  _just so_ .

“Needy,” Marcus grinned, licking a stripe down the side of Oliver's neck. “You're lucky I can't wait to take you up against this wall.”

And with that, they only parted long enough to get rid of their robes and shirts.

 

_A/N: and then they have the sex but i suck at writing that too so youll have to imagine the rest lmao the end_

 


End file.
